Chartres
by Incantrix
Summary: After the series is over, Kirika picks up her artist hobby again. But Mireille has other plans...what's to happen?


Hello... ^_^ A Noir piece of fiction...go figure ^_^  
  
The author of this fan fiction therefore only owns the writings. Yep, this is the lovely   
disclaimer. This copyright is 2002 under Devin A. Brown.  
  
  
  
  
Chartres  
  
by Incantrix  
  
  
  
She looked up at the stained-glass windows, so high was the ceiling that she could never   
imagine touching it. It was the perfect space of harmony.   
  
There, thought Kirika. There, where the angels come down from heaven to watch the sermons   
from earth. It was there, where heaven touched earth. It was there, where Kirika wanted   
to be, not just to talk to them and listen, but to hear their stories of their life   
in a new world.   
  
Yes, up there, in the light of those divine stain-glass windows.   
  
All original from the twelfth century, these weren't the replacement windows often seen   
at other high-gothic cathedrals. These panes were much older, made from artists that   
long since past away. Their delicate work was from a time of upheaval in history. Where   
common folk had thought the world was to end in the year 1000, the years afterwards   
gave birth to new artistic talent. Thinking they were fortunate to be alive, these   
artists devoted their entire lifetimes to bringing heaven to earth. And in doing so,   
their faithful talent still surpasses the glassmaking artistry of anything made today.   
  
Kirika knew that age to glass is usually a very bad thing. Glass, when standing up   
in such rose windows for hundreds and hundreds of years, looks solid like so many other   
hardened substances. But like its transparent cousin water, stained glass it is very   
fluid indeed. The gravity of the earth causes the glass to run, becoming thick near   
the bottom of its edges and thin near the top. Many a times, glass rose windows, shatter   
because of this age defect, and the hundreds of years of artistic history are lost in   
an instant.  
  
Exactly the reason the rose windows at Notre Dame were lost. Precisely the reason at   
many cathedral's that the rose window is not original to the artist's intent. And exactly   
the reason that Kirika came to Chartres - not just to see the rose window light, the   
same light from almost a century ago; but to touch it, feel it slowly fall on her skin.   
And finally, to setup her easel and paint the beauty of it.  
  
For Chartres was the crown jewel of high-gothic. Situated in the sleepy same-named   
town on the outskirts of Paris, the cathedral dominated the landscape where no other   
village structure was even half of its height. The train ride was just outside of Paris   
in under an hour's time. From her seat in coach, Kirika could see how the town had   
not changed in the past hundreds of years. Its as if the town folks had built their   
cathedral and stopped construction of anything else. It was amazing that such a small   
hamlet had the resources to build itself an art jewel from so long ago.   
  
Kirika looked again at the Chartres's rose window, staring up into the light.   
"So...stunning..." she spoke under her lips, a whisper that could barely be heard.   
"Beautiful..."   
  
"Yes, my child. It is a gift that they have survived for so long."  
  
The little brunette turned to her visitor, a nun in her traditional black and white   
garb. She wore a pin on the chest, a symbol of the townsfolk that helped run the most   
noble of buildings. "How did they endure?" asked Kirika.  
  
"They survived because of us, my dear. When the Germans came only fifty years ago,   
we had already moved the stain glass windows away to safety among the crypt. During   
such times and other points in history, we have always defended this place even more   
than our homes."  
  
The nun looked up. "They say this place is where earth touches the heavens. I believe   
just the opposite, for this is where heavens has become earth. Everything is made   
for you to feel that you are at the holy gates: every structure is a doorway that points   
your eyes upwards - the windows, the doorways, the arches. Each one climaxes with a   
point of maximum height, the direction of relative heaven. For heaven truly build this   
place, such signs are our guidepost." The nun dipped her head. "Right?"  
  
The nun walked down the center isle with Kirika just following behind. "No one has   
any reason to come to Chartres, expect to this cathedral. It is this place, these walls   
and windows, that are ancient by our own mortal age; their beauty can never be replaced.   
That is why we are here."  
  
Kirika smiled.  
  
The nun pointed to under Kirika's arm. "I see you're an artist, my friend. Did you   
come here to paint Chartres?"  
  
"Hai!"  
  
"Well, we don't usually allow artists without written permission, but let's just skip   
that for a second. Come over here, and let's see what we can do." Kirika's guide led   
her to a position along the side to a perfect viewing angle of the center rose window.   
Yellow candles, not usually a painter's best friend, slightly illuminated the area   
rather well for Kirika to paint.  
  
"Hai..." The nun silently bowed and was off.  
  
Very pleased, Kirika setup her canvas frames stand for her all day session. She was   
determined to get in a much work as possible before the rose window extinguished its   
sunlight.  
  
While prepping for painting, Kirika thought about the last couple of months after her   
non-ascension to Noir. She and Mireille had been surprising quiet about the situation   
and the future. Their former work had paid handsomely, they both had sufficient funds   
to live without working for quite a long time.  
  
And she had her own time. Those talents of hers couldn't keep themselves buried forever.   
With a few francs she finagled out of Mireille, Kirika managed to get a beginning set   
of oil paints and a couple of canvases. This was her hobby at the moment - for Kirika,   
other work never really came up as an issue.  
  
The brunette eagerly setup her own canvas and paints. Kirika looked up again at her   
objective, the spilling light into the interiors of the cathedral. The rose window   
was perfection - a glorious object of beauty, of wonder, of pure spiritually.  
  
Yes, Noir had been around for that long as well. Just like the perfect rose-shape of   
the window, her own life of Noir had come around in a circle. She had returned, le   
grand retour, to Altena, in search of answers. Her own pilgrimage gave her a few of   
the answers. They explained some of her past and the memories that she longed for.   
What she had found in Noir, however, Kirika had ultimately rejected.   
  
Noir had completed its own circle of written destiny. To be incomplete, well, that   
might have been part of its destiny as well...wasn't it? For Noir, in Kirika's mind,   
was forever sealed away.  
  
Did she feel that her own 'le grand retour' was complete? Well, Kirika wasn't exactly   
sure. Some questions that she asked could not be answered, at least right away. What   
was her life before Noir? How did she forget of Noir before remembering it again?   
  
Her and Mireille had always searched for those answers among the Soldats. The Soldats,   
an underground empire of its own. Maybe those answers she sought weren't with them,   
but were within her own memories. Because right now, Kirika could never be sure.  
  
So, she painted. Beginning with a circle, then to the darkness around the light. Because,   
in Kirika's mind, it was darkness where Noir had started. It was darkness where she   
had started. It was in darkness that her secrets lay.   
  
To Kirika, she was using the painting to find herself - to find those memories, hidden   
in the shadows of the darkness. She was still there, with questions, searching among   
those memories. And as she painted, those memories came to the surface. To a point   
of it all, it let her seek out and find the light.  
  
  
[++++++]  
  
  
Kirika gazed at the small jars of oil paint in front of her. Noir I. Noir II. Noir   
III. To the left were other, more expensive bottles of Noir colors. How could there   
be so many colors for black?  
  
She picked up two of the most identical jars that matched her own set of paints,   
determined to try them both out to match to her current works. She had completed rose   
windows like in her first couple of canvases, and had switched to other stained-glass   
windows throughout the rest of the cathedral. Most of all, she had used up an   
extraordinary amount of black paint from her starter kit.   
  
Her nun friend took her to a different spot everyday, after all, she had been there   
a lifetime. Now, Kirika had a whole collection of works, and she could no longer just   
wanted to paint one or two, but a whole collection. So, she needed more paint, more   
canvases - and for supplies, the local artist store had done nicely.  
  
She pushed the two jars of paint to the cashier for ringing up. It was an older gentleman   
that Kirika had seen before, with graying hair and a even thinner graying mustache.   
He was a rather jovial individual, the effect from enjoying the rich French foods and   
wines of Paris a bit too much.  
  
The store owner stared blankly at the two jars of Noir paint, looking at the labels   
with careful scrutiny. "You know, you have two jars of black paint here, almost identical   
except for their shine nature. You do know they are different?"  
  
Kirika just sighed.  
  
"Well, there's really no reason to get two such almost identical jars. I could sell   
your some shiner which you could mix..." His words trailed off when he saw his little   
customer frown.  
  
"I...don't know...how to match," she answered, pointing to the jars. "I can take   
both...I guess."  
  
"Well, well. I can understand you're confusion, my little friend. But I'm here to   
help you, that's what I do." He seemed rather happy at his assertions, pulling the   
end of his mustache with his fingertips. "Perhaps if you could show me what works you're   
finishing, then I would then have a better idea. Or if it's a series a paintings per   
say."  
  
Kirika's motions understood the store clerk as she reached into her artist book bag.   
She had taken her finished works to her nun friend earlier that day for a bit of show   
and tell. Kirika almost blushed when pulling out her finished works for the shopkeeper.   
Carefully unwrapping then from their cloth covers, she carefully placed her finished   
rose window oils right in front of the storekeeper.  
  
The owner was immediately struck with awe. He gently cradled the lavish works in his   
hands, handling them finer than newborn babies. He stared in admiration at the   
stained-glass windows. "It takes years...not even my professional customers can paint   
like this, nor the crummy street vendors down by Ile de la Cite."  
  
"Ummm..." said Kirika, slightly blushing.  
  
"You see here-" as he pointed to the darkened section of the interior of Chartres. "Even   
your darkness...its so masterful how your are able to capture the stained glass." He   
gently put down the paintings and started to wrap them back up. "These are quite an   
achievement, my young lady."  
  
Kirika was slightly embarrassed before, but she now threatened to break out in a full   
blush a few seconds later. "No one...well, someone..." She thought about her other   
artist friend once, but that was almost too painful to bare. She turned away from   
the counter for a moment to collect her thoughts, sincere and quiet as always.  
  
"Please...don't be ashamed." the shopkeeper begged. "This is wonderful series of   
paintings, they are just perfect. I was wondering if...I could sponsor you?"  
  
The brunette looked up at the shopkeeper for a second, stunned by the words. "Sponsor   
me?" she asked, half amused by the answer, not really knowing what it meant.  
  
"Well, you see, I would be able to give you paint and canvases for you to use. In exchange,   
for your paintings of course."   
  
Kirika immediately scowled at losing her own works, to this 'shopkeeper.' Hastily,   
she turned around toward the entrance door.   
  
"No! You misunderstood me! I don't actually keep the paintings...but would show   
them...to a couple of my friends. That's all. You know, to other professional artists   
and such."  
  
"Not in public?" she asked.  
  
"None."  
  
She pondered the storekeeper's proposal for a few moments. Well, she did need more   
and more paints all the time. She could swear that Mireille gave her the most annoying   
of glares this morning when she asked for another large sum of francs for her expenses.  
  
Kirika desperately wanted to continue painting. "Hai. You can sponsor me."  
  
"Wonderful! You shall not be disappointed, I swear. My name is Jacques Tarturn, and   
this as you know is my humble artist store." He reached out over the counter and shook   
Kirika's hand rather enthusiastically.   
  
"It was, alas, my father's place some thirty years, but it is my work residence now."   
He spoke especially friendly now that Kirika had agreed to his sponsorship. "And, my   
young lady, your name?"  
  
"Kirika," she answered blandly.   
  
"Good! Good!" Jacques threatened to break out into a full smile. "Now, I was wondering   
if you leave some of your collection with me the next couple of days. I want to show   
them to a friend. That's. all...I swear it shall not be for long. Is that OK?"  
  
The brunette nodded, pulling her finished works out of her artist bag once again.   
  
"Wonderful! Wonderful! Yes, please take some paint jars! Oh, and I have some new   
brushes that you may interested in..."  
  
  
[++++++]  
  
  
"I see you've been inspirational lately." Mireille leaned down along the ground,   
balancing herself with a full cup of tea in one hand. She stared at the dried canvases   
that laid along the floor area next to her small kitchen.  
  
"Hai."   
  
Kirika had just applied a protective layer of clear coat over her finished oil works.   
It was easier to do the final step at home, the step was simple but necessary for   
preserving her works. Now, she was letting them finish drying in the open air of the   
apartment. She had taken to sitting down with her own tea at the common table.   
  
The blond bent down almost to her knees, to take a closer look at her partner's paintings.   
"You know, these stain-glass windows are absolutely beautiful. I didn't think Notre   
Dame had such gorgeous works."  
  
Kirika turned away from her evening tea. "They're from Chartres. I've been   
visiting...the last few weeks."  
  
Mireille stared blankly at her partner. Surely, she did not keep a short lease on Kirika   
- in may ways her younger partner was more mature and thoughtful when it came to many   
situations. Nevertheless, she was a bit surprised at Kirika's recent travels.  
  
"That seems...excessive," she pointed out.   
  
"Mirelle..." the younger partner pleaded, laying her teacup down on the saucer.  
  
But Mireille just nodded, sitting down and leaning back in her desk chair. "You know,   
we have to maintain a low profile. In case..."  
  
"What?" Kirika questioned, rather upset about the whole thing. "For work?"  
  
"You know we can't go back to work right away. They would disapprove of the whole   
business...going back after we rejected their offer."  
  
"Soldats." Kirika nodded, getting up from the table. She strolled over to the window,   
opening it up to the cooling summer night. She made herself rather comfortable on the   
ledge, looking out.  
  
"We eliminated one of their problems."   
  
"Hai."   
  
Mireille nodded. "But figuring out what we're going to do now..." She tapped along   
the new pool table lined in red, she had already missed the green one very much. "This   
place took quite a bit to get back into shape, and then I had to pay off the landlord   
and the local police. Either way, If we ever wanted to open up for business again,   
we could be very selective. There are opportunities right now."  
  
The brunette shook her head. "Not yet. At least...for a little while."   
  
Kirika ran her hand over her tummy, feeling the scar thought the light fabric of her   
dress. "I just...don't think its time." Physically, Kirika felt she was healed from   
Altena's last gunshot. But emotionally, Kirika knew something was missing from her   
life. She just didn't...know.  
  
"We're going to have to answer this question eventually. After all, we can't just spend   
money without making some as well." Mireille typed a couple of keys at new computer.   
"I think there are a couple of jobs we could do. One of them is in London."  
  
Kirika ignored her roommate, as she continued to stare out of the open window.   
  
Mireille typed away a bit more at her keyboard. "Fine. I can see that you've made   
up your mind. You're a big girl now, I'm sure you can take care of the place for a   
few days." She got up from the terminal and walked towards the bathroom. "Well, I'm   
going to bed...I have an early reservation on the SVA train a few days from now."  
  
Kirika turned around a bit, getting Mireille's attention. "Do you remember what Chloe   
said about the moon? How it was so beautiful?"  
  
Mireille winked as she watched Kirika tilt her head. "Good night, Kirika."  
  
"Hai."  
  
  
[++++++]  
  
  
Mireille walked along the tree-lined street, finally sitting down a one of the park   
benches. For a weekday afternoon, traffic was sparse on the city roads. She could   
near the birds chirping away in the nearby trees, happy and content as can be. A wave   
a sudden calmness swept over her.  
  
"You've settled back in your apartment. I see." Mireille turned her head slightly   
around, about five feet behind her were another set of opposite facing benches.   
Occupying the bench was her mysterious visitor, with a rather familiar voice.  
  
"Yes, we've redone the place." Mireille could hear the familiar cane tapping on the   
ground, her eyes caught against the golden gleam from the white top of his staff.  
  
"I see."   
  
Mireille teetered a bit in the upswept wind. She was sure that spotters were out and   
around; she was vulnerable to the whims of her visitor. She thought a second to wait   
and see the situation out before causing a scene.  
  
When she had received the e-mail for the meeting, Mireille thought long and hard about   
bringing Kirika back into the loop. Her partner was recently spending more and more   
time outside of the apartment, sometimes leaving even before Mireille had finished her   
morning shower, then not coming home until just before dinner.   
  
Meanwhile, Mireille had gone about setting up a new identity front, the electronic papers   
and such had taken countless weeks to process. Even if they never went into business   
again, she could easily sell off the dummy corporations to a colleague, in such turning   
a slight profit for her time.  
  
The work was extremely time-consuming. Addresses in the middle of the countryside needed   
to be properly set up. Some were for phone and mail verification, others were for drop   
shipments for supplies and contacts.  
  
She had labeled everything with a new name. Blanche.   
  
The government, the local police, the secret bureaucratic agencies had been easily   
fooled by her new cover. But the Soldats were not to be as easily fooled. So Mireille   
was not surprised from their e-mail a few days later, asking her to come by the park   
for a little visit.  
  
An interruption from reality brought Mireille back to the park bench. "You deny the   
wishes of Altena."  
  
"Hai."  
  
"Nevertheless, we do have work for you. We can pay you handsomely for your time." Work,   
thought Mireille. She wasn't sure if work from the Soldats again was a good idea.   
"However, we're not used to taking no as an answer."   
  
No?, thought Mireille. She hadn't thought that after all that had happened, the Soldats   
would have any need for her and Kirika. But that was her foolish opinion. For after   
everything had happened, here they were - being asked to join the organization that   
had tried to hunt them down for so long.   
  
"No one has ever said no to us before. We...have never liked any type of attention.   
But recent circumstances with Noir and other groups have given us a chance   
to...reconsider." Mireille could swear her visitor was almost swallowing his own words,   
not believing her own senses.   
  
Unbelievable, thought Mireille, the Soldats were giving her a choice. "Therefore, if   
you do go back into business, it must be for us. You and your partner. Otherwise,   
you must leave it completely."  
  
Mireille bit at her lip.  
  
"You have a week. Good day."   
  
She could hear her visitor get up from the opposite bench and walk away. She stayed   
seated for a minute, just thinking about the possibilities.  
  
Mireille turned around her head at the opposite bench, expecting her visitor to be gone.   
Indeed he was, on his former bench were the remnants of his visit.  
  
  
[++++++]  
  
  
Kirika was back in the art shop, laying out a couple of recent paintings for her mentor.   
She pressed the works forward, expecting more praise.  
  
"I see you switched to a couple of scenic places around Paris." He fumbled along his   
speech while scratching the back of his head. "You've tried a couple of different   
perspectives, but they really do not suit you at all."  
  
"Hai." Kirika's voice was disappointed with the news. "How come? Its not like you're..."  
  
"They are disappointments, that's all. I expect you to do better." He walked to the   
private office in the back of the art shop. "I anticipate better things - and oh, leave   
the paints that you had picked out for next time."  
  
"Hai..." The little brunette sagged quietly as she left the shop, humbled as hell.  
  
  
[++++++]  
  
  
"Mireille? Mireille?" Kirika slowly trotted into their apartment. The sun had not   
quite set for the day, she could see out of the windows the familiar setting shades   
of red and orange. On the pool table, were some of Mireille's papers all scattered   
about, just hanging around. She fudged around for a second, rolling a pencil around   
the felt pool table. It flicked out of her hand, rolling a bit farther down the counter,   
so far that she had to get up and chase it.  
  
The pencil had rolled up next to the day's crumpled newspaper. Kirika noticed the art   
society pages almost immediately - sleek young ladies in skimpy dresses, showing of   
their summer wear, accompanied by their older gentlemen. But that's not what really   
caught here eye - for behind one the of ladies, was a oil work of a lightened rose-pedal   
window against the black background of the interior of cathedral. It was a photograph   
of her painting.  
  
She wondered for a second how her own work had ended up on the wall of an art gallery.   
And not just in any exhibit, but at a well-known gallery in the historical district   
of Paris. She had only lent her own works out to Jacques, the storekeeper that would   
smile each time he gave her some oil paints. She couldn't believe-  
  
Kirika ran back to her carrying bag, and took out one of her finished works. Jacques   
had given her the painting back, carefully wrapping it in paper "to protect it' as he   
called it. She ripped off the protection hazardly, uncovering her finished masterpiece.   
  
There it was, her rose window. She looked carefully at the colors, which seemed in   
her mind a tad off, but she couldn't be sure. She placed her finger onto her brushstrokes,   
carefully tracing lines she had remembered making so much smoother.   
  
Kirika turned over the canvas, looking for the maker's mark. She immediately snapped   
the framed oil in half, discovering the different manufacturer of the canvas. Tossing   
the broken painting aside in misery, she reached into her bag once again.  
  
"Another one," she mumbled, as the brunette stabbed at it with her own hand, cutting   
right though the stretched canvas like a hot knife through butter. Tossing her art   
bag aside, she lurched toward her dresser drawer, pulling out her Beretta M1934 and   
pocketing a couple of clips at the same time. Disgusted with herself and annoyed as   
hell, she threw a full clip into her pistol and stormed out the apartment door.  
  
  
[++++++]  
  
  
Kirika dodged a van just before reaching her destination, the little historical gallery   
where her 'exhibit' was. It was late and after midnight, she was sure that no one else   
was up. She approached the gallery, an old building with new large panes of glass in   
the 16th District, quickly and quietly.   
  
A truck was already on its way, pulling up the street from the major boulevard. Dodging,   
the brunette skipped right across the street and ran down a parallel corridor to the   
gallery, shooting up the back entrance. She calmly removed her own jacketed gun,   
shooting the lock out of the metallic green back door. Her momentum slammed her little   
body right though the back way, into the darkened gallery.  
  
The theft alarm was ringing like a banshee as Kirika ran up the fire staircase. So   
far no company, she thought, her gun pointed out and about. After the quick climb,   
Kirika ran down the length of the second floor. The upstairs lights were all off, save   
for the occasional emergency light. But the huge pane windows more than compensated,   
as her body was a dead giveaway in the moon's rays, but it also lighted Kirika's way   
as she ran.  
  
Shadows in the distance were coming out of the far room. They were non-descript in   
suits, shuffling around silently. Above their heads was a bit of smoke, though Kirika   
really couldn't identify it too well. A couple of the suits were holding metallic cans   
in their hands, containing liquid that rattled from their jostling.   
  
The suits saw Kirika almost immediately against the moonlit windows, they reacted on   
their own by pulling out their own hand weapons.  
  
The brunette dived for cover behind a sculpture, a contusion of molded stone that   
reminded Kirika of a huge fat pretzel, all twisted around like silly putty. A few   
gunshots came close, chipping away pieces of smoothed granite, showering Kirika with   
light dust.   
  
Kirika could smell it now - the burning of wood and particle board from behind the suits   
as she peeked at the smoke pouring out of the far room.   
  
Time was running out.  
  
She ignored a second round of shots as she stuck the barrel of her Beretta right through   
the sculpture. Kirika carefully fired off a couple of rounds before removing her   
constricted hand. The opposition fell like sandbags, grunting and falling down, each   
of them in one shot. Kirika found her marks perfectly.  
  
She ran over to her latest round of dead victims. Soldats, she presumed. Their gas   
can was nearby, which she kicked angrily. It tugged back, very heavy with gasoline   
as the liquid sloshed around the aluminum container. It was clearly full to the brim.  
  
She thought for a second, realizing that the suits had not laid down their accelerant.   
If they had extra, then why endlessly drag their fuel away from their objective? Kirika   
would have to check it out herself. Ripping at the shoulder of her shirt, she pulled   
off a strip of white cloth. Kirika fashioned the cloth into a makeshift mask as she   
trudged into the smoked-laced exhibit room.   
  
She first saw a fire in the far corner of the room, it all seemed rather unnatural for   
the little pyramid of ignited wood to be in such a gallery room. At one glance, it   
seemed like a modern art exhibit gone awry. But the licking of flames along the walls   
and the endless smoke filling the high ceilings told of a another story, of something   
very, very wrong.   
  
In the corner was an unmoving human body. Kirika quickly ran over to the sleeping victim   
and identified the face and long white whiskers of her own artist shopkeeper. A clean   
gunshot rang perfectly into chest, his body was already contoured and twisted over   
horribly. Clearly, he was already dead.  
  
Fire licked the walls, which for a gallery were strangely bare of anything - paintings,   
canvases, sculptures. Her identifying eyes steered back to the pyramid of wood - and   
she knew in now that the fire was made from wooden painting and canvases. Her oil   
paintings, that once been her pride and inspiration.  
  
The fire laughed at Kirika, embellishing its role. And all she could do was run.  
  
  
[++++++]  
  
  
She was outside, running along the same alley that had been her entrance. Kirika's   
eyes were already rimmed in sudden flushness and soot from the fire, but the brunette   
did not have time to cry.   
  
Her passion, she thought. Why do my secrets have to be always buried?  
  
Kirika couldn't understand her own thoughts. In the search of her truth - in return,   
she had been dealt setback after setback. Soldats. Altena. She did not want to be   
controlled.  
  
She heard the rustling in the corner, turning her gun almost around from her approach,   
focusing upwards.  
  
Mireille.  
  
The blonde's head was low, almost distant. She was definitely not focusing on her younger   
partner. Her demeanor, her standing. in Kirika's eye felt all wrong. She followed   
her eyes downward into Mireille's hands, to see what had sparked her sudden attention.   
Another aluminum can rang hollow against the delicate part of her older partner's leg.  
  
"Soldats," said Mireille.   
  
"Why?"  
  
"Your publicity was uncalled for. They have never really stopped watching us." Mireille   
sniffed a bit in the air, for this was clearly difficult for her to explain. "If it   
wasn't me, then they...and they did try, didn't they..."  
  
Kirika tried to lower her gun, still pointing at up at her partner. "You met with them,   
didn't you..."  
  
Mireille just nodded.  
  
Kirika stared harshly at Mireille, her tone more angry than ever. "I have so...little   
else." She felt her own hands were rather empty, heavy. "All I've wanted was the truth,   
and it still hasn't been fulfilled. And all I wanted was to be left alone..."  
  
"You know why I had to do it." motioned Mireille. "We need to live. Income. It's   
a simple price to pay in becoming invisible."  
  
Tears streamed down Kirika's face, tormented by the shadows that had always followed   
her. "I want to be me! I don't want anyone else saying so!"  
  
"Kirika..." shock raced over Mireille's face.  
  
"I want to live how I choose! As myself and not as Noir! Not as Blanche!" Kirika   
fisted her hand in anguish and frustration.  
  
Mireille breathed a bit, swallowing her tongue in frustration. "But-"  
  
"LEAVE ME ALONE!"  
  
And Kirika lowered her weapon ran again.  
  
  
[++++++]  
  
  
Mireille leaned back in her chair, thoroughly frustrated as hell. She pushed away her   
tea, which had never tasted as well as Kirika's own handling. Even the extra sprig   
of mint just seemed to bitter the mixture even more, killing those delicate taste buds   
of hrs. And in all the frustration, she had lost the bid for the job in London. The   
job was now the farthest thing from her mind, even thought she was depressed as hell   
for missing the opportunity.   
  
Two days. Two days since Kirika had ran. The blond looked back at her bed, the left   
side that was usually reserved for Kirika was almost made - even if it wasn't for   
Mireille's sleeping tossing and turning frustrations.  
  
She pounded away at her own computer keyboard, looking for other contracts. The one   
in Berlin was nearly not enough money, the one in the states was too controversial in   
her mind. With no longer suitable prospects, she fingered the power switch retiring   
from work at the moment.  
  
"Soldats," she whispered. "For they pry at the bones of Noir. How horrible."  
  
She kicked at the frustrating work her Blanche had already acuminated. Cursing a bit,   
she pushed the papers aside.   
  
The newspaper article from her Soldats connection poked itself visible from below.   
Jacques had not been totally innocent, using the works of art as his own. But those   
'works' of his were so well praised, by the paper, by the public. Old and tired artist   
they said, discovers new life.  
  
Mireille had already cleaned up the broken canvas pieces, knowing that Kirika had been   
deceived, knowing that the only way here works were to be returned was through a long   
and public fight. Exactly what the Soldats were typing to avoid. Then intended to   
nip the situation in bud almost immediately.  
  
Exactly what Mireille had thought.  
  
The blond looked at the picture again, of Kirika's painting. Even in newspaper black   
and white, Kirika's images haunted life after death. Images that were only rose windows   
Mireille's mind, she thought. Other reviews had said they were perfection. They were   
of heavenly creatures, moving among the darkness. They were of lost souls, coming   
back...  
  
Mireille clasped her fists in anger, seriously upset for not realizing it before.   
Grabbing her keys and coat, she also wanted to make sure she was well-armed as she locked   
up the apartment.  
  
  
[++++++]  
  
  
So, thought Mireille, this is what Kirika thought as she strolled among the streets   
of Chartres. The town with the same name as its own cathedral. Even thought the medieval   
structure dominated the landscape, she couldn't understand what was so appealing.  
  
Still, even from the outside, the rose window had attracted her attention from its   
central location. Late sunlight shone of its aged glass, twinkling into her eyes.   
Perfect leaded glass of this age was always very dull, she thought to herself. But   
these works were nothing her own eyes had ever seen. No wonder, its must have been   
perfected by artists from almost a century ago, and then lost in time.  
  
Mireille walked in via the center cathedral doors. The tourists had already exulted   
for the day, it was already near sunset which dimly lit her way inside. Nevertheless,   
the blond was about to walk in when she was gently tapped on the shoulder.  
  
"I've never see someone quite look at our rose window like that," said the nun, looking   
down. "What are you looking for, my child?"  
  
"I...don't know," stuttered Mireille, recomposing herself. "A young woman, painting.   
A brunette."  
  
"Ah, I understand. The one you speak of is here."  
  
Mireille just nodded.  
  
"Follow me." And the nun turned and lead the blond into the cathedral. "She had been   
here for two days, nonstop. Often working almost all night. She tears a lot, you know."  
  
The nun pulled out a torch candle by the hovel entrance, lighting it via a nearby candle.   
"We've looked after her for the last couple of days. Food. Water. She paints   
constantly." The nun handed another lit candle torch to Mireille, which she accepted.   
  
"This place is beautiful, by the way."  
  
"Yes it is," answered the nun. "They say this is the place where heaven comes to earth.   
A place of beauty." The nun pointed to the highest ceiling Mireille had ever seen.   
"They say angels come and visit. I see them in the light all the time."  
  
"Is that so?" answered the skeptical Mireille, not really listening.  
  
The nun continued. "Do you know what she is painting?"  
  
"Rose windows," said Mireille.  
  
The nun stopped suddenly and turned around. "Oh yes, she does paint the ancient rose   
windows of Chartres. That much is true."  
  
Mireille stopped in her track, looking over the nun's shoulder for a second, stunned.   
Behind her, a stained glass window shined brilliantly in the west setting sun. Colored   
jewels that Mireille could almost certainly try to reach up and grab...as there they   
were, jewels in the darkness.  
  
"But..." Mireille was having quite a thought. What if it wasn't the rose windows.   
What if...it was something else. Something harder to touch...  
  
From out of the darkness, explained the newspaper article about Kirika's oil works.   
From out of the darkness, the artist was able to capture the essence, the spirit of   
Chartres. It was as if heaven was on the canvas...   
  
So it wasn't the darkness that Kirika was looking for. It was the light.  
  
"It was never the rose windows, was it?" asked Mireille.  
  
The nun smiled slightly, looking over Mireille in admiration. "I will take you to her."   
she said, turning back around as they continued down the nave.  
  
They walked to the very center of the cathedral, one of the most lighted parts of the   
towering structure. Mireille could not stop herself from continuing to look up - at   
the stained glass windows and the vaunted high ceiling of floating white.  
  
"Mireille." Kirika's voice bought her back to reality.  
  
The blond turned around to the face of Kirika, a paint brush in her hand. "I wanted   
to...talk to you." She squirmed for a second while her escorting nun nodded and dismissed   
herself. "I think...I'm starting to understand."   
  
"Come..." Kirika motioned with her hand as she lead Mireille a few feet more. "Now,   
stop. Look down."  
  
With all the clues to look up, windows to heaven, of ceiling that were supported via   
air, Mireille had never thought to have looked down. She saw it all: etched into the   
marble surface floor were the very thin lines of darker stone. Focusing her vision   
more outward, she could see that the pattern was an embedded labyrinth carved into the   
marble floor.  
  
Mireille looked down at her feet, where the entrance to the embedded labyrinth was.   
She could see the passage in circles and half circles, finally coming to the very center   
of the cathedral.  
  
"Mireille," asked Kirika, "Please follow it."  
  
The circular maze was complicated, with many twists and turns. There seemed to be no   
true direction as the older partner followed each careful choice to the left or to the   
right. Sometimes straight. Never explainable.  
  
Mireille didn't like being manipulated. She didn't want to be lead in such directions.   
No choice.  
  
Her own life had been a travel through the maze. Of losing her parents, a choice she   
had never made. Her uncle had made sure to bury the past. Then, Noir had set the items   
in motion until they had finally rejected Noir, and all its essence.  
  
Kirika's journey had so mirrored her own. Forced into Noir, her memories wiped away   
so she could repeat the entire path and return to Altena.   
  
Mireille stopped and looked back for a second to see her younger partner following her   
in the maze. "Keep going." motioned Kirika, was the flick of her wrists.  
  
She continued in on her passage, reaching the final destination; the center of the   
labyrinth circle. And she just stood there as Kirika quickly caught up to her.  
  
"Working for the Soldats," said the blond. "Would be returning."   
  
"Hai."  
  
"I thought when...that job came along. I didn't realize...it."  
  
Kirika nodded. "It is sometimes hard to see the light." She turned to view up at the   
stained glass, and to look up at the rose window. "Where heaven and earth meet. It   
is a holy place. How I have learned from her and Chartres."  
  
Mireille looked up. Yes, in a place of almost utter darkness. Even in such darkness,   
the sun shone through with utter brilliance. Their could be light.  
  
"So, what do we do now?" asked the blond. "I'm afraid you're going to have to have   
you show me a bit of the way."  
  
Kirika just turned around and smiled.  
  
  
[++++++]  
  
  
"Keep still. I'm almost done." Kirika was busy behind Mireille, straitening the   
shoulder straps of her partner's apron.  
  
"Do I have to wear this every day?" Mireille fidgeted around uncomfortably in her new   
apron. "It has too many flowers on it," holding it out for her eyes to see. "And   
I never wear this much white."  
  
Kirika snickered. "Heh, its perfect." She took another couple of seconds to tie off   
the apron strings. "There." The little brunette walked around Mireille and grinned,   
admiring her handiwork.  
  
Mireille sighed. "OK, what's next on our list before we open up tomorrow?"  
  
"I get to finally teach you how to make jasmine tea. Properly."  
  
"Wha!" exclaimed Mireille. "What do you mean I can't make tea!"  
  
Kirika finally broke out into a full giggle before finally smiling.   
  
Mireille gave in. "Come on, let's get some lunch down the street. I'm starving."   
  
"Hai!"  
  
As they left their own little café, they could see workers attaching the new hanging   
sign to the side of the building. 'Le Deux Croissant' it read, in big blue script   
letters on white.  
  
"So, when are we coming to work tomorrow?" asked Mireille.  
  
"5:30. Why? Did you think the pastries would just bake themselves?"  
  
Mireille frowned for a second time, disappointed. "But..." Her objections quickly   
disappeared as Kirika held her via the waist.  
  
"Argato, my friend."  
  
  
[++++++]  
  
  
Author's notes:  
  
Not much to say, I usually set my writing speak for itself. I may continue this in   
a long sequel story, but I haven't decided that much yet. ^_^ Noir is such a great   
series, BTW, but wow - it's a hard series to write!  
  
- Incantrix  
incantrix@dreamclouds.com 


End file.
